


background noise (background breath)

by hiroshimalovers



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, sad Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiroshimalovers/pseuds/hiroshimalovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts at twelve thirty one am on a Sunday in January when Steve Rogers forgets how to breathe</p>
            </blockquote>





	background noise (background breath)

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in a bad moment  
> if you guys need some help, any help, feel free to leave a comment and I will get back to you asap, and I also have a tumblr -- revolutionaryarsenal.   
> it will be okay.

Sometimes, he holds his breath for seconds, minutes, hours. Sometimes, he sees himself in a mirror and he closes his eyes. Sometimes, he wakes up in the morning, and he forgets how to remember.

Sometimes, Steve Rogers is inexplicably, unexplainably, sad. 

It’s twelve thirty-one am on a Sunday in January, and snow falls from the sky, brushing the rooftops and mixing with the dirt in the road. It’s twelve thirty one am on a Sunday in January, and the snow touches his face, sticks in his hair. Maybe he gets inside, and maybe he doesn’t. Maybe, maybe, maybe. He doesn’t think he remembers how lungs are supposed to inflate, and he doesn’t think he remembers anything but

cold filling his mouth, filling his chest, surrounding him, covering him, but not quite killing him and he doesn’t want to remember but he can’t stop. He can’t stop and it’s no longer twelve thirty-one am on a Sunday in January and he cannot, will not.

He makes it inside of his apartment, number two oh three, and he sits down on the floor behind the door thinking. Two-oh-three. Two-oh-three. Two-oh-three.

At nine oh-seven in the morning, his phone rings. The screen lights up, too bright, and his eyes hurt. He doesn’t answer it. He kind of wants to but he also doesn’t. Sometimes

he gets lost in the past, lost in numbers of those he hasn’t yet forgotten, lost in every memory he wants to keep tight and every one he doesn’t because he 

is history, he is living history, and maybe, maybe, maybe he can become someone new but for now.

His phone rings at nine oh seven in the morning, it rings at nine forty-three, it rings at ten nineteen and then it stops. Each time, the screen is too bright, seems too new, too far away from who he was and still wants to be. It’s like fitting into his old pants. It isn’t going to happen but sometimes, occasionally, he wishes

(he doesn’t wish for the coughs that wracked his whole body, he doesn’t wish for the way he shivered so violently in the nights, he doesn’t wish for the way he was so frail and depended so much on everyone else)

(the last one never really changed but he wants to pretend)

Mostly he wishes to feel the way he did when he didn’t have to worry about the entire world, just the small section of Brooklyn where he lived, wishes to feel the way he did when… 

And it’s one fifty eight in the afternoon and he isn’t breathing like he should be, no deep breaths, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

The phone rings again, lighting up, too bright. It’s probably Sam. It could be Natasha. It’s probably Sam. He doesn’t pick it up but it’s not because he doesn’t want to -- it’s because in some capacity, in some capacity, he can’t. 

Steve Rogers is too young and far too old at the same time and it’s one fifty eight in the afternoon, and he can’t pick up the phone, and he realizes

he realizes

he realizes

he wants to die, and it hurts so much more because it’s one fifty eight on a Sunday and he’s Steve Rogers, he’s Captain America and he can’t die, he won’t die because

he heals, he loves, he heals he heals he heals he heals he heals, and he thinks that over and over again until it doesn’t even sound like words. Heals. He heals.

He heals and other people don’t and his phone lights up again and its two oh one on a Sunday and this time it’s a text and maybe he can handle that.

Sam: its okay

and Steve wants to scream, scream and scream until his vocal chords can’t hold out any longer but that's not really how it works -- police would be called and he doesn’t think his voice would even give out. 

He doesn’t text back but he hopes Sam will understand.

He’s tired but he’s a super-soldier, he’s Captain America and that means he has too many limitations on his body because he can do too much

oh god

he wants to die and he’s Captain America and he’s Steve Rogers and

it’s cold and his lungs still feel like they’re filling with water and he’s so much bigger than himself and

he’s Steve Rogers and

he wants to die


End file.
